


The Summer Garden

by glim



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 12:03:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14019831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: A sharp pang of worry hits Bucky right in the chest; he's supposed to marry Steven, they're supposed to get married when they grow up and this boy, the son of his father's Prime Minister, already hates him.





	The Summer Garden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snottygrrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snottygrrl/gifts).



At six, Steven Grant Rogers is all thin limbs and scowling reluctance. His father has to push him into the drawing room at York House and he eyes the prince with what Bucky recognizes as immediate dislike. Steven lingers at the threshold as long as he can, takes on small step, then another, and curls his small hands into fists as his father gives him another push. 

A sharp pang of worry hits Bucky right in the chest; he's supposed to marry Steven, they're supposed to get married when they grow up and this boy, the son of his father's Prime Minister, already _hates_ him. His whole body is tense as Bucky walks up him; he tries to draw into himself, takes one more look at Bucky, and juts his chin out in defiance. 

Bucky takes Steve's hand when he's told to, stands as close to him as Steve lets him, and can't help but smile when Steve holds his hand a bit more tightly at the barrage of flashbulb photographs that record the moment. 

"You'll get used to that," Bucky says. 

"No. I won't." Steve clenches his jaw and his skinny shoulders draw up to his ears. "You can get used to it for both of us, James." 

"It's okay if you don't want to marry me," Bucky leans in to whisper, "but Mama said you'd play baseball with me later." 

Steve turns to him, still blinking from the lights, confused and dazzled all at once. He glances quickly past his own parents and past Bucky's, then leans in close to return the whisper. "We could go play now." 

Bucky hesitates, then gives a tiny nod. His hand still clasped with Steve's, he tries to estimate how long it will take his mother and father to realize he's slipped out, and took the Prime Minister's son with him. 

"James, come on," Steve says, and his fingers are so tight around Bucky's, and the smile on his face is so sudden and bright, that Bucky finds himself blindsided. 

"My name's Bucky," he replies and feels himself get pulled out of the drawing room into the cool, spring air.

* * *

By the time he's eighteen, Steve is two inches taller than Bucky and has broad enough shoulders that Bucky blinks in surprise. He's seen Steve since that first meeting--of course he's seen Steve, he's stood next to him at royal events and state celebrations, held his hand a few months back during a winter holiday gala, kissed Steve desperate and breathless on his birthday just a few weeks ago.

But, Bucky realizes, every time he sees Steve, every time he really sees him (like this: alone, quiet, walking through the hedge maze in the summer gardens), he's taken by surprise. The back of his hand brushes against Bucky's when Bucky catches up with him, and he slides a conspiratorial glance Bucky's direction. 

"I didn't think you'd ever leave." Steve's fingers slip between Bucky's and, once more, Bucky finds himself pulled along. "I thought I'd have to drag you out of that drawing room again." 

"Yeah, well, next time send me a text or something." Bucky bites his lip. God, all he wants to do is kiss Steve again, feel his mouth move gentle and pliant beneath Bucky's, feel his hands at Bucky's waist as he pulls Bucky in closer, ever, breathlessly closer. 

"Next time, give me your number. The one you actually use," Steve says before Bucky can protest. His fingers tighten around Bucky's and he tugs him toward a bench in the middle of the maze. "Hey..." 

"Hey," Bucky murmurs. Sudden shyness overcomes him, and he looks away from Steve. If Steve's not interested in anything more than this one summer together, Bucky... can somehow learn to live with that. "I told you, you don't need too--" 

"I'm going to West Point in the fall," Steve interrupts. He shakes his head when Bucky wraps both of his hands around Steve's and draws them to his chest. "Don't. Don't say it, Buck." 

"But--you said-- _art school_ , Stevie," Bucky murmurs, ignores how his voice breaks, and now all he wants it to bring Steve's hand to his mouth, to press his lips to his knuckles and tell him he doesn't have to do any of this, he doesn't have to marry the prince, he doesn't have to join the army, he can fuck off to France and paint the Mediterranean if that's what he wants, Bucky will go with him, if that's what he wants, too.

* * *

The door to the drawing room closes and a series of quiet, quick footsteps sound. It's late spring and the gardens around York House are just about to burst into a riot of color.

"Your highness." 

"Captain Rogers," Bucky says without turning away from the open glass doors. He's been waiting so long for this moment; he needs a few more seconds to dwell in the possibility between the anticipation and its fulfillment. 

"I know you read my letter." Steve takes a more steps forward, until he's standing just behind Bucky. "I was hoping--" 

"I read all your letters, even damn one of them. Four years at West Point, four more in the Army, three fucking tours in the Middle East. You nearly killed me, Rogers." Bucky sighs when Steve's hand slips into his and he finally turns to look at Steve. "Jesus... I missed you." 

Steve smiles and blushes; he's in full uniform, clean-shaven, blond hair in a neat crew cut, but when Steve smiles, Bucky swears all he can see is that blinding-brightness from twenty years ago and he finds himself caught between the sun and the candid light in Steve's blue eyes. 

Maybe he's waited twenty years for this: for Steve to walk up to him, to take his hand and hold it warm and tight, for the two of them to stand face each other, alone, the morning sun on the dew-damp garden behind them. 

"Right, but this is the only one you haven't answered." Steve's fingers tighten around Bucky's hand. "James--" 

"Yes," Bucky says, and turns to press his mouth to Steve's, kisses him slow and soft, and rests his forehead against Steve's when they're both short of breath. "I'll marry you, Steven, I'll marry you a dozen times over. You never even had to ask."


End file.
